


seldom all they seem

by cattlaydee



Series: i know you [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Gen, M/M, the pairing does not feature as much as i'd have liked, this is an attempt that got away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 20:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12373080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattlaydee/pseuds/cattlaydee
Summary: "There was an alabaster figure, slightly larger than that of a normal man, an arm extended as he sat. The rest of his body was bare except for the romanesque toga draped over his shoulders. His face was emotionless, placid.Waiting."----Alexander Hamilton, new to Virginia, expecting something much more than what he'd found, sets off to learn about his new home and perhaps, in the process, get to the bottom of some of the tales he hears along the way.





	seldom all they seem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rascalisafatcat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rascalisafatcat/gifts).



> Please excuse any typos/misspellings, this was posted on my phone because this weekend turned crazier than I expected.

The limbs of the trees at Mount Vernon had not swayed in years.

The property itself had been largely forgotten. While weeds invaded and branches had managed to grow themselves into mangled piles around the perimeter, much else had stayed mostly barren---no crop had grown, no patrons came to call. The water behind the home was the only constant change, rippling smoothly, largely undisturbed aside from the occasional jump of a fish. In the event that any person found themselves sailing by, they may notice the home upon the hill, but it would largely disinterest them---they would not question who lived there, or if it was of some importance (and one should understand, it was a grand, large manor, which anyone would assume _was_ a home of some importance).

And it had been. Once.

The once prosperous kingdom had fallen into disrepair. The lack of a ruler to unite the different fiefdoms resulted in disorder and distrust; the soil had also turned dry and infertile, and they often quarrelled between each other---small skirmishes that resulted in few deaths and little change. Though conscious of the absence of a leader, few seemed bothered or concerned by it. It was as if the effect of time had made them apathetic. Or that something else, perhaps mystical, had just taken the idea from their minds altogether.

Still. The people living on the land bemoaned their bad luck. Most were poor, except for the land owners, and even they weren’t living in any sort of opulence. Some, who raised and sold livestock did alright, but even then, disease and lack of adequate resources kept that from reaching their potential as well.

In it’s stead a tale was borne of a once fantastical man who’d been King, when the villager’s parents had been satisfied and capable of providing for their families. A fair man. A good, honest, but firm man. One that, though ordained by God, took the role more seriously than others might when it felt entitled.

“Sometimes,” some would say, “He would descend to the village to visit with the common folk, to pick at their wares, to entreat them and laugh and even dine occasionally.”

“A man of wonderful disposition,” Others would boast. “Uncompromisable in his convictions. A man of the people.” And they would sigh and mutter and shrug, and wistfully consider what it may be like to know of a man like that.

And Mount Vernon stood silent upon a hill, largely unnoticed and unoccupied, save for a couple of ageless servants and one old, mysterious groundskeeper.

The home opened up inside to a great living space that immediately gave way to a hallway in which one could go left or right. One direction led to the rooms, the library, the dining hall; the other, to a set of elaborate doors, hidden away, only to be open by one suited for the task within. If one could have entered, they would have been met with a fantastic sight.

There was an alabaster figure, slightly larger than that of a normal man, an arm extended as he sat. The rest of his body was bare except for the romanesque toga draped over his shoulders. His face was emotionless, placid.

Waiting.

* * *

Alexander Hamilton had sailed for 7 days. He did not like sailing, at least for this long of a time; he had worked for a merchant from the land he hailed, and had some experience with ships, but he was glad to place his feet on solid land after a week's worth of being on the water. He promptly began to make his way into the main area of the town.

He thought about where he'd come from, as he wandered down the dirt path through what he assumed was the town square. His nose wrinkled. The island may have been hot, disease may have been prevalent, the infrastructure outdated but at least there were people. At least there were stands selling goods, at least there appeared to be life.

This place appeared desolate.

He’d heard of this place from visitors to the island when he was still a boy, when his mother ran the merchant’s office and he’d spend his day in the back, focusing on his studies or helping her with the books. One man had said he had known it as a great kingdom, bustling with people and merchants, with plenty of it to go around.

This...did not seem to be that at all.

The storm had come through the island, long after Maman had gone. Neddy’s family had helped raise the money to help him leave. He’d wanted to go with Neddy, to go north and go to school with him, but he had not the support nor the connections nor the resources, and so here he was, a place he’d believed would be just as good.

Surveying the empty streets, he realized he may be wrong.

He made his way to a close tavern. There were less than a handful of men sitting about, one at the counter where a tavern lass stood, boredly marking things on a piece of parchment. He threw his bag on the ground and sidled up to a stool, and sat. He waved her over.

“Do you have a room available?”

“More than only one.” She looked at him in surprise. “You in town for a visit?”

“For good.” He responded. “Plan was to go to school, but there doesn’t seem to be many people here, so I wasn’t sure...”

She nodded with a frown. “We do have William & Mary, but i’m not sure if you’ll find the study you want there.” She placed an ale in front of him. “First ones on the house. Welcome to Virginia.”

He thanked her with a nod and sipped at the drink, humming in appreciation. Room temperature, not too watered down, and it had been weeks since he’d had anything palatable. He asked, then, about where he was at---where were all the people? He’d heard so much more about this place.

She frowned, shaking her head. “Most families here do well enough to feed their own, but no one produces enough to make a profit at market and so anyone who could afford to left ages ago,” She wiped down the counter. “What’s your name?”

“Hamilton,” He sipped at the drink. “Alexander Hamilton.”

She smiled once more. “My name is Abigail. This is my place, passed onto me by my father. Let me get you something to eat, you look like you could use it.”

And he could. He tried not to think of how the the boat had rocked and how he’d often lost his meals. He sipped once more and thanked the lady, and she bustled away.

“You’d be better off traveling North,” The old man next to him groused. Alexander looked over at the man. “There’s nothing here no more. Won’t be ever again.”

“Maurice…” Abigail began, a small grin on her face. “Don’t scare the boy away.”

“Why not?” The old man snapped. He turned to Alexander, shaking his head. “You’ll not find anything here worthwhile. Hasn’t been worth a damn in years. Most can’t even manage to pay their dues to the landowners, those who don’t take pity on us all.” His shoulders drooped

“So why does anyone stay?”

“Most everyone’s family has been here for generations, and honestly, I don’t think most have the money to leave.” Abby chimed in. “Their families have history here. They like it alright, as long as they can get by.”

“' _Twas_   _a place_.” The man started, almost desperate. "You should’ve seen it here some 30 years ago,” The old man continued as if she hadn’t even spoken. “Don’t even know what happened. It was like….” He shook his head.

“Maurice, don’t tell me you believe in any of those silly stories.” Abigail said with a laugh.

“I don’t, I don’t! But by Gods, Abby, I swear, it happened overnight. It was like…” He shook his head again; he looked crestfallen and lost. “Something was just gone. Nothing any of us could place.”

Alexander only watched as he pushed his mug away and rose, visibly bothered by what he’d just relayed. He threw a few coins towards her and shrugged on a patchwork jacket before turning a stumbling from the tavern. Abigail watched him go, mouth twisted in pity.

“He get’s going some days. Whatever happened, he lost almost everything, before his wife passed a few years back.” She explained with a shake of her head. “They tell stories ‘round here. But don’t they everywhere?”

“Stories?”

She leaned against the counter top. “Yeah. You know.” She waved her hand. “Everyone wants someone to save them. Want some sort of...mystical answer to their problems.”

“Yeah,” He laughed, and he drank from his glass once more. “Wouldn’t it be nice?”

She watched him for a moment. “You don’t believe in that sort of thing?”

Well, he hadn’t said _that_. They’d had their share of that sort of thing where he had come from; apothecary’s and their talismans, potions and herbs that sometimes had inexplicable results. He knew of the people who prayed to the sun and the moon. Knew how the tides changed and made things happened.

Hadn’t helped him or his brother or his mother though, so he’d never placed much value in any of it. He shrugged at her question, and she continued in his silence.

“There’s these stories. About a man somewhere. To unite the kingdom. A _King_.” She picked up Maurice’s empty glass and began to clean it. “We won’t just appoint someone. You’d think we could have one of those fancy Republics if we’d wanted, like the ones across the pond but…” She tsked. “No one really thinks of it. It's like their minds in a fog.”

Something in the way she said it made him pause. She mindlessly cleaned at the mug, apparently not even mindful of what she’d said, but he suddenly was more interested. “Somewhere?” He asked hesitantly.

She seemed surprised. “They say,” She looked around, as if bashful to be passing on such gossip. “They say there used to be a man who was considered a leader to all the lords and ladies in the lands near ours. Lived in a great house on a hill. Very fancy.” And she winked at him, and laughed. “Very respectable. Handsome. Kind. Benevolent. But firm. Fair.” She laughed. “A man like that must be a fairytale, eh?”

Alexander smirked as she chuckled away, but his interest didn’t wain. He didn’t necessarily believe in magic and certainly not fairytales.

“So what happened to him?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure he just left, if he ever existed at all. Some places ‘round here are just lordless. But the story is he was cursed into some state or another. Lost to anyone who wasn’t meant to find him.” She set the mug up, finally satisfied it was cleaned and turned back to him. “Like I said, people make up stories to help when times are hard.”

Maurice had seemed insistent though. Passionate even, desperate. Imagine, he wondered, if even it had the possibility of being true. Imagine, if it were as the old man had said, and others believed to that degree.

Imagine, what could come to a man, who found such a person. Imagine how grateful the people would be----or even the man who was to be rescued. Imagine…

And he could. Imagine the North, the next Kingdom over. Where Neddy was.

He finished his beer in a gulp and set it down. He threw a few pieces of silver on the counter, enough for the food and the room for a few nights before settling back on the stool.

“And where could one find a horse, if one wanted to explore such an adventure?”

She looked at him in surprise. “Thought you were here to go to school?”

“Not in session for a month or so. More than enough time to get to learn the land of my new home.” He grinned. “And maybe...save the kingdom.”

She laughed again, but grabbed at the coins he’d thrown on the table and pocketed it. “Well, you’ve paid for a room for two months, so it’s none of my business what foolish errands you run on your time.” She jerked her head to the left. “There’s a stable a few homes down. It’s not the most popular, but Hercules has a few stray horses he’s been trying to sell for a time. Try your luck there. Tell him Abby Lee sent you, he’ll set you up right.”

He explored the little that was left for him to see----mostly boarded up buildings, a few stands here or there were a man and his wife attempted to sell what meager surplus they might have. Alexander pulled his jacket around himself as a breeze picked up and chilled the air. Strange, he thought, for it was not even September.

He found the stable Abby had directed him to and arranged for a horse for the next day. Wouldn’t be gone more than a week or so, he told the man, and he didn’t have the intention to go far. He didn’t really expect this to turn up anything. At the very least, though, it was a way to inspect his new home, maybe get a feel for if there was somewhere greater to settle down in than here in Williamsburg, should the schooling not pan out.

He returned to the tavern to sleep for the evening. He’d head North, he’d decided, for North was just that much closer to Ned, and if he were able to find a better choice than here, he may end up returning only to buy off the horse and abandon school altogether.

He couldn’t know, as he fell asleep, of the places that lay hidden in the woods, miles and miles away.

* * *

He’d been on the road for three days, by the time he came across anything that garnered his interest.

He’d passed through Richmond, by far the most promising property so far, and though he’d been tempted to stop there, he’d paid for the horse for two weeks time and he was going to use it. He’d traveled through Monticello, which he'd found fair, but had heard some dreadful things about the Lord who ruled there and kept on after camping out for the night. Montpelier was fine as well, but not better than the two previous and so now he found himself in a seemingly more barren wilderness than before, 3 days from the place he’d believed he would call home from now on.

He’d come to a fork in the road. While the horse had wanted to continue on West, something in his mind had decided to turn him right, to the East, and he kicked the horse in that direction, much to the animal’s dismay.

The air had gotten a bit colder, a bit more damp and a fog began to settle the further along he went. Alexander shivered from his spot upon his steed, pulling his cloak tighter around himself, shifting in the saddle. The animal danced in place, throwing its head back and forth. Alexander clicked at him, leaning forward to pat at his neck.

“Sampson, shhh. Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, just a bit of cold.” He looked back up. The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, and he realized he would need to find shelter shortly, lest he be come upon by thieves or other ne'er do wells in the the night. A darkness on the horizon seemed to be coming this way as well, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he remembered the storms from his boyhood days; most times clouds like that meant nothing but trouble.

He pressed the horse on, though the animal complied reluctantly. They began to trot, and soon came upon a dirt road, clearly sighted though the fog grew more dense. Those concerns tugged at the back of his mind, he still urged Sampson forward. The horse protested, pawing just a bit but Alexander won in the battle of wills and soon enough, they were on their way up the path. He’d no idea why the animal was so spooked. He’d thought himself fortunate that he’d been available, and he’d seemed so brave and willing, and yet the animal twitched and tensed and Alexander was half concerned he’d bolt from beneath him.

They came, finally, upon an obstruction in the roadway. A bramble of weeds and vines and branches overran the gate that seemed to be the entrance to whatever estate this was. Though he was unfamiliar with any major landmark in this area, he could see, in the distance, what could only be a grand estate home upon the hill.

Odd, he considered. No one had mentioned such a place existed. He frowned as he stared at the fence. Obviously overgrown, he had to wonder if there would be any benefit it attempting to continue further. He dismounted and walked to the barricade to examine the mess. It would take some time to hack through it, but he had his sword at his side and was largely unconcerned. But what bothered him was _why_. Such a place shouldn’t be so unkept.

He sighed and unsheathed his sword, unimpressive as it may have been, the only thing his father had left behind when he’d abandoned their family. Alexander couldn’t know if there would be anything closer within a few hours ride---most likely not, if this estate sat as it did, unknown and unharmed. It wasn’t as if he had nothing in the saddlebags, so at the very least, if it were fully abandoned, he could use it for shelter.

Or. If it were fully abandoned. He could claim it for his own.

His mouth twisted into a wry smile at the thought and began to work, hacking at the thick, wiry brush that bound the gates together.

By the time he finished, he’d had to remove his coat, despite the chill air. It had taken longer than he expected, almost as if the branches had minds of their own; he could have sworn, had it not been so fantastical or impossible, that they were growing thicker and regenerating the more he’d removed.

No matter. He’d unlatched the gate and pushed it open, and reached for where he had tied Sampson. He urged the animal through the opening, though the horse had again pawed and snorted and tried to turn away.

“For goodness sakes, you beast, whatever is the matter?” Alexander snapped at him, and dug his heels in. The animal whinnied once more but finally relented and off they went.

There was a large, grand dirt path that curved around a great field on both sides, leading up to the front of the home, still mired by the fog in the air. Alexander assumed it had been once used for carriages and horses, but for right now, he decided that the shortest way to where you wanted to go was a straight line and cut across the field at a trot, urging Sampson all the way.

A man came into view through the clouds. He was wielding a broom, standing in front of a set of doors on the porch that seemed too grand in its design given the deserted state of the property. He froze in his motions, and looked up slowly, as if he couldn't possibly believe someone would be on the approach. Alexander pulled back on Sampson’s reins and dismounted a few feet further than he’d initially intended.

 “H’lo,” He began, resting his hand on the pommel of the sword. “I...I hope it’s alright I let myself through, but with the night and the storm coming…” He trailed off. When the man said nothing, still examining him from a distance, Alexander shifted uncomfortably. “I can leave, if you…”

"You've a name, young man?"

"Hamilton, sir. Alexander Hamilton, sir." He shifted. "Look, I don't want to cause any trouble. I wasn't even sure if people lived here, but I don't want to impose..."

"No,” The man replied, though he sounded as if he were uncertain. “No, that’s alright.” And he whistled. A few moments later, another man appeared, hair tied back in a queue, clothed in dirty breeches and an apron over his clearly worn shirt.

 “This is Mr. Benjamin Tallmadge. Benny,” The man on the porch began once more. “Take the young man’s horse to the stables and get him housed before the rain comes.”

“Sir.” The man responded only with a nod. He took the reins from Alexander, eyeing him for a moment with caution, before glancing back at the man on the porch meaningfully. The man on the porch waved him away with a shake of his head, and Tallmadge continued on with the work. Alexander watched him go, wondering if he’d just made a terrible mistake.

“You a knight?”

Alexander startled. “I’m sorry?” He asked, in a strangled sort of tone as his face flushed. “I...no, sir. I’m…”

What was he?

“I’m new, to Virginia. I…” Alexander scrambled to explain, because the man on the porch seemed even less enthused at his denial. “I’m a student. I’m just...trying to learn the land.” He patted at the sword at his side. “This is just for protection on the roads. It’s...all I have.”

It was weak. He knew it was weak, and suddenly, he was very self conscious. The man on the porch merely sighed, shoulders sagging in what Alexander could only assume was disappointment.

“Alright then. You can stay a few nights, if need be, at least until the storm passes over.” He opened the door, waving for Alexander to follow. “I’m Henry Knox. I am the groundskeeper here at Mount Vernon.”

“Mount Vernon?”

The man---Knox---examined him strangely, as if trying to look for an explanation, but shook his head again. “Never mind. Come on in, let’s get you settled and get something warm in you.”

* * *

Alexander was sure he’d never been in such a grand place in his life.

There was no doubt, as Knox had walked him through the grand foyer and to where the home split into two parts, left and right. The walls were high with moulding that shone in the candlelight, walls painted a rich cream color with landscape paintings decorating the walls. To the right, where Knox had begun to lead him, he saw it open up further, into what he assumed was a dining hall, before winding away to a staircase that he assumed would lead to rooms.

But. He turned back, craning his head behind him. And only saw a pair of elaborate white doors, the same gold embossed moulding, and without thinking, turned his entire body that way.

“And what’s down there?” He heard himself ask.

“Storage.” Knox snapped, a departure from the congenial way he’d spoken to Alexander so far. “This way now, Mr. Hamilton.”

And Alexander had reluctantly followed.

Mr. Knox had led him to a room, again, greater than any he’d ever stayed in before. A large bed sat in the middle of the room, a fireplace a few paces in front of its foot. He had very little with him, only the saddlebags that had been deposited in the room from when Mr. Tallmadge had boarded the horse. There was a change of clothes, and so as he shirked his jacket, he changed his shirt and went back down the stairs to the dining hall, as Knox had instructed.

The man asked very little of him. In fact, he seemed rather bored with Alexander’s presence, and committed only to small talk. Alexander asked him of the grounds, what sorts of things they grew. He had noticed the river behind the estate, and Knox explained that they caught fish there for supper occasionally.

Alexander continued on, briefly addressing how he was planning on going to school and how he expected to settle in Williamsburg. He poked at his soup, tearing off a bit of bread before dipping it in the broth.

Alexander had asked those he’d met in both Montpelier and Monticello about the stories, the ones the old man had alluded to, the one Abigail had told him, and they had responded with some kind of vague understanding or awareness, some with the same sense of despair that Maurice had felt, but mostly with very little care as to how to resolve it. Expecting the same, he asked Mr. Knox the same, expecting a similar response. “Have you heard the stories? About the King like fellow everyone tells stories about?”

Mr. Knox stilled where he sat, the soup spoon in midair. He cleared his throat before setting it down and brought both arms to lean on against the table.

“I have,” Knox answered, his tone uncertain. “Why...do you ask?”

It was a far different reaction than the others had given him, and Alexander’s neck grew warm. “Virginia is my new home. I’m merely interested in the local lore.” He sipped at the broth once more. “I am curious...if there were any truth to the stories.”

“They’re fairytales.” Knox replied, in a very stilted sort of way. He picked the spoon back up and began to eat once more, as if the matter were settled. It irritated Alexander, because he felt that it was most certainly not.

“There is no truth to them? They just...manifested, from nothing? A man just...vanished from thin air?”

“You seem very invested in stories about a man you never knew.”

Alexander was suddenly more interested, because there was a very defensive, almost protective edge Knox’s tone had taken on and it seemed the man realized the slip, because he ducked his head again and said nothing more.

“You say that as if he was a real person.”

“Perhaps he was, perhaps he wasn’t.” Knox sighed, and set his napkin down. “Mr. Hamilton, may I ask, why are you asking about this old wives story?”

Alexander shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought maybe you would know more about it, considering you are so----” And he stopped himself, flushing for his absent mindedness, because it was quite obvious that he had been about to uncouthly comment on the man’s age. But instead, Knox only grinned.

“Well, I _am_ old, Mr. Hamilton.” He said with a chuckle, cutting at some ham. “But yes, I’ve been around some time and heard of the King.” His expression became sad. “It would be quite a thing, if such a man existed though.” He looked up as he brought the meat to his mouth. “Don’t you agree?”

Alexander wanted to press. It was in his nature to press, like a dog at a bone; a quality Maman had always chastised him for, had told him that it would get him into an awful lot of trouble one day. And he was a guest here. He’d only been for an afternoon. And because of that, he only nodded.

“Yes,” He acquiesced, dropping the subject out of courtesy. “It would.”

* * *

It was his third night at the manor of Mount Vernon. Alexander’s plans to leave by first dawns light were set. Mr. Knox had been kind to him, had offered him shelter and food during the awful storm, had boarded Sampson safe against the elements, but it was time to be on his way to fulfill the task he’d taken upon himself.

But. Tonight he could not sleep. It was as quiet as it had been the last two nights, but both of those had lulled him to bed with the luxury of the featherbed he was fortunate enough to occupy. Tonight, he tossed and turned, and stared at the ceiling. He had not even tried to douse the candlelight.

It just made no _sense_. A handful of servants. A older, somewhat odd, groundsman to maintain the estate, but no one else. No owner to be found, no commanding presence, barely any crop to find, though the food had been sufficient. So why….?

_“They say,” Abigail had teased him. “They say there used to be a man who was considered a leader to all the lords and ladies in the lands near ours. Lived in a great house on a hill. Very fancy.”_

_“A man like that must be a fairytale, eh?”_

His guts trembled and suddenly uneasy, he sat up in bed. He had not explored, had not toured the grounds at all, save for the library which Knox had allowed him to relax in. He pushed himself from the bed and made his way to where the candles were mounted on the wall and grabbed the mount from its post. As carefully as he could do, he slowly bent the door handle, and let himself slip out into the hallway.

He walked back down from where he’d come the past two days and he made his way past the library where Knox had entertained him him the majority of the time here. He passed by the dining hall and came to a fork, and he remembered the double doors from his first afternoon here, the golden embossed white oak that he’d been so taken with. Remembered how Knox had said it was nothing but storage. And he headed that way.

They did not appear to be latched, he found as he settled in front of them. In fact, when he jiggled the curved handle of the door, it offered no resistance.

He looked from side to side. He did not want to be appearing to be snooping. He did not want to be caught doing any of the sort.

But there was something there. The doors had nagged at him for the past couple of days, ever since he’d passed by them the first time. They were grand, far too grand to be insignificant; he found himself...taken, to try and know what laid behind them.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the handle down and pushed out, slowly opening the doors, not wanting them to clack loudly against the wall and alert anyone to his activities. The room inside was pitch black; there was no sign of any sort of decorations on the walls or source of moonlight to light his path. His initial feeling was one of disappointment---perhaps Knox had been completely truthful with his words. Perhaps it had been silly of Alexander to remain curious, perhaps….

He swallowed. The doors were open now. He might as well at least enter the room.

Alexander shuffled into the dark slowly, wary with his torch wielding arm outstretched. As he slid across what he realized was marble floors, he took about five or six steps into what otherwise was a barren room to find….

A man.

Alexander straightened, drawing himself up with a gasp. The light from the candles in his grasp was not very bright, but it was enough. In front of him, sat a sculpture.

It was possibly the grandest work Alexander had ever seen (though he had not seen all that much). The man’s face was mostly expressionless; his lips were set in a line, but the way his head was held gave off a sense of pride. His brow was heavy and his gaze was well-defined and confident. His right hand was held above his head, pointing towards the heavens, and in his left, he held a sword.

There were console tables on either side of the room with three tiered candelabras unlit sitting atop them. He hurried over to light them, and then made his way back to the center of the room to take his eyes upon the man in a better lit environment. His heart began to race.

A _King._

This had to be him. It all made so much sense now. His heart slammed against his ribs, and bile rose in his throat. Oh god, were the stories _right?_ Was it all true?

He stood in front of the giant, staring at the man's face, and Alexander’s head began to swim. He wasn’t quite sure what to do; he glanced back at the open doors. Perhaps he should leave. Perhaps Knox or Tallmadge would be angry, perhaps they were behind this. Perhaps he should leave and then come back later with more men.

He considered it only briefly, and turned back towards the statue. He walked closer, so he was only a hand’s length away.

How did one put an end to such an ailment?

His gaze fixed on the man’s face. A sudden urge to be closer to it compelled him to climb onto the lap of the statue where he settled, knees bracketing the man’s thighs.

It was a very curious, strange sensation. It made him think of Ned for a moment, from back home. Made him think of how he and Ned would burrow under the threadbare blankets, and touch and stroke one another, curious and excited and learning.  Warmth curled in his gut.

He reached out a hand to the man’s face. _Handsome_ , he thought to himself. Dignified, proud; easy to imagine as a King. Easy to desire for him to be made flesh.

He brushed his fingertips along the statue’s jawline and his eyes widened.

The trail his fingertips traveled _changed_. Against the white of the stone, it darkened for a moment, before turning back to stone and his breathing grew deeper, more anxious. He brought both hands to the man’s neck, saw it darken softly beneath where he pressed them.

He remembered the stories Maman used to tell him before bed. Sometimes about dragons and knights, sometimes about pirates and sometimes….

He licked his lips and scooted forward. He felt a little foolish, especially if this did not work, because then he was just an insane person kissing a statue. But if it did?

He pressed his lips against the stone. It was cold and unyielding---at first. But something kept him there, something he didn’t quite understand, some kind of existential understanding and soon, the lips turned warm, and soft, and flesh.

It didn’t happen immediately, but instead, the rest of the man began to restore as if the gypsum was being washed away like dust in the rain. A strangled gasp came it's mouth as his face twisted up and his arms dropped to his side; the sword clattered to the ground. His eyes focused and unfocused and then focused once more, now on the very awestruck man sitting in his lap. As he tried to catch his breath, he attempted to realign his thoughts and figure out what was going on.

“You..you….” He tried to flex his hands, tried to grab at the man who had saved him.

Alexander made a move to stand, taking the man’s speechlessness as a signal for him to depart.

“No, please don’t.” The man urged. “I didn’t…” He worked his mouth, moving his tongue around as he got used to the sensation all over again. “Please don’t run away. I must have your name. I must have the name of the man who has freed me.”

Alexander flushed. His chin rested on his chest as he bashfully tried to figure out a way to sound glorious, but the truth was he had no name, nor title or lands. He had only himself. And that would have to do. He looked back up at the man---the King, the one people said would restore his new home. He straightened up, pushing his shoulders back and setting his expression.

 “Alexander Hamilton,” He answered. “My name is Alexander Hamilton.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> This started as an attempt at a Royalty AU that quickly transformed into one with a Fairytale tilt, you can blame my Disney playlist. It was far more ambitious than I realized at first, and I actually have about 4K words of a sequel to this that I had intended as the actual gift, but I wasn't sure how stringent the request parameters were so here it is. If anyone IS interested, I was thinking of publishing two more one shots and making this a series. 
> 
> Also, if anyone was wondering the statue I had in mind, this, but with CJack as the Washington: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/36/George_Washington_Greenough_statue.jpg/1200px-George_Washington_Greenough_statue.jpg


End file.
